I Never Know How Hades Will Be With Me

I feel his strength. I never know how Hades will be with me. Sometimes he’s rough, almost crude. Sometimes he’s matter-of-fact—almost business-like. He’s my husband. This is part of what he must do. But sometimes, he’s caressing, intentional, and extraordinary is too mundane a word.

Did he rescue me from what could have been a boring constrained life here on earth? Or did I rescue him from his singular loneliness and the emptiness that he found himself in down below in Hell?

I don’t think I could handle my six months up above unless I could run away at night and let my imagination triumph, being there for Hades and delighting that he then is there for me.

Is it true perhaps that I can truly only be myself In Hell?

Or is the imagination Hell?

This is too much to think about and so I sleep.